NEIL!!!

Warning: This post may contain foul language

I interrupt the regular chronological flow of blog posts to bring you this update.

Neil has returned. After several months of dormancy, Neil has found us at the Auckland YHA hostel and is carrying on his campaign of irritation.

This time the little asshole stole my book.

The YHA kitchen, dining, and common area is set up with many, many cubbyholes in which to store food and other items. Usually, people label all their food items and stick them in one cubbyhole, and occasionally add more items to that same cubby. Glen and I had put out books in the cubby that also contained our bread, tea, peanut butter, jam, and travel mugs. Everything was labeled.

When we got back to the hostel from our morning walk, Glen went to get the laptop and I went to get my book. I am was reading Colleen McCullough's Caesar, part of her Masters of Rome series. It was an engrossing read, I was quite happy with it and had the delightful anticipation of having at least two thirds of the book left to read.

I poked around in the cubby for the book, moving aside the tea and travel mugs that I placed in front of our books in the morning and that were still in their original places. Glen's book was there. Some dilapidated old novel about some sordid love tale was there. That was not my book. My book was missing. Keeping an optimistic frame of mind, I checked my room. Nope, no book. I went back to the cubby wall. Definitely no book.

SOME ASSHAT STOLE MY BOOK. And as a snarky little slap, they replaced it with an old and infinitely inferior bit of trash that they probably stole from the book exchange shelves in the basement entertainment room.

I informed the staff at reception of the theft. Of course they aren't able to do anything, and it has nothing to do with them, but there are security cameras in the cubby area and it is good to inform them of such things in case there are other problems. The girl at the desk sympathized with me, and then looked at me quizzically and said in bemused disbelief "they moved your stuff back to where it was before? And they replaced the book with something else??"

Man, am I ever pissed off about this one. I wanted that book, it was going to carry me through a good two weeks of hardcore reading. Neil was a bastard when he stole our food. Now he's a downright asshole, and that wee modicum of faith I built up after the Australia episodes that maybe hostellers aren't such a bad, thieving lot after all has been completely eradicated.

Jerks.

Wellington: Boom or bust, but mostly bust

We arrived in Wellington full of hope. We arrived at the only hostel with free off-street parking in Wellington slightly less full of hope after seeing the manky neighbourhood where it was located. We looked around our dorm room and had all hope vanish. The room smelled of mildew and vomit, there was food and trash all over the floor, and the beds had clearly not been changed since they were last occupied. We went wandering around the central business district to look for the ‘help wanted’ signs that have been in nearly every café we’ve come across and lack of hope descended into downright dejection. Help wanted signs were few and far between, and most wanted experienced staff only. That night we went to a restaurant for supper as we didn’t want to cook in the hostel’s filthy, filthy kitchen; after dinner, we got lost in the side streets of Wellington’s downtown district. Glen became nauseous from his greasy meal and we went back to the hostel. I slept on top of the covers that night, wrapped up in my pyjama bottoms and fleece jacket. It was cleaner that way.

The next morning we attempted to find a different, cleaner hostel to stay at. Parking was the problem. No one had any parking, and everyone’s beds were ludicrously expensive. At least the dirty hostel where we were at had an option to camp either in one’s tent or in a car, which knocked the cost in half and significantly decreased the grossness factor as we wouldn’t have to sleep in their beds. After completely striking out on the parking and alternative accommodations front, we went for coffee. One brief conversation we decided that we a) didn’t want to stay in Wellington, and b) didn’t want to find work there either. It seemed completely pointless; we could waste huge amounts of time looking for jobs that, with the exchange rate being what it is, pay us peanuts and eat up all our time, and then we would have to go and spend all – or possibly more – than we earned on dorm beds in overcrowded, drunk-filled hostels. Why stay? Why bother?

The problem of work and accommodation therefore being solved with a surprisingly abortive solution, we were prepared to enjoy our next day or two in the city. We went wandering around the waterfront and the central business district, we ate pre-packaged salad for supper, we slept in the car. The next day’s primary activity was me going to a belly dance class – huzza! – and us being adopted for the following night by one of the lovely ladies I met at the class. She and her husband run one of the downtown motor lodges and offered a room in their home (which is a private section of the motor lodge) for the night. Naturally, we jumped at the offer and after spending the day chatting and socializing and sharing the Kaikoura Crème, and then going to see a belly dance performance at a Turkish restaurant in the evening, we slept solidly in a warm, comfortable, very clean bed.

The next morning we left Wellington to carry on with our northwards journey. We left behind notions about working while traveling, quality of time over quantity of time spent, and ideas about finding travelers accommodations in the city. Alas, we also left behind the remainder of the Kaikoura Crème. It was an entirely accidental oversight and we are still licking that wound, but the nice people from belly dance seemed to really like it and after their hospitality I think that one bottle of booze is not amiss.

Still…no more Kaikoura Crème…

Speed Through Pt 5: Christchurch Northwards

As it seems to go on the south island, we found ourselves back at trusty Cousin J’s house with a vehicle that we weren’t sure we wanted to keep any more. We were concerned that there could be further issues with Sparkleypoo and wanted to ditch her while she was still functioning. The idea was that as we would only need a vehicle for a couple of weeks once we go back to the north island, we might as well rent one of those backpacker vans with the fold-out bed in the back. It would be a nice, worry free sort of situation. So in the grand tradition of hard-working backpackers cars, she was tarted up on a home-made flyer and posted as a free agent on all the Christchurch hostel notice boards. We also investigated the possibility of selling her via Turners Car Auctions, but due to her low value and their cut of the sale price, we decided that such a measure would be taken as a last resort.

After several trouble free days with her (and limited purchaser interest, and re-consideration of the high price of renting a van) we reneged on our original thought. If someone in Christchurch wanted to buy her at full asking price, than we would consider the offer; but for all intents and purposes, Sparkleypoo was off the market.

The rest of our time at Cousin J’s was spent quietly. We walked around a bit, we went clubbing one night with Cousin A, and then another night she took us up to “make-out point”, which has the best possible night time view of the city’s lights. Yes, the view was spectacular. No, we did not make out.

Investigating the work situation in Wellington was the next step. The plan was that we would head up to Wellington, find work such as tending a café, and rent a room in the city for a month. To do this, we needed our IRD tax numbers, as all workers require tax numbers so that the government may remove their pound of flesh. When we attempted to call the Inland Revenue Department to get the IRD numbers which we had applied for at the beginning of November, we were informed that our names were not on file and that we had no numbers. Really, I shouldn’t have been surprised. We were warned by one of the workers at the first hostel we stayed at that the IRD office is notorious for misplacing application forms. We decided that it would be better to re-apply in person and hoofed it down to the Christchurch Tax office to bother them face-to-face. It would take a couple of weeks for our numbers to be processed, but that should still be in time for us to find work in Wellington.

After all this kerfuffle, we felt it was time to leave the south island behind and seek our fortunes northwards. We hit the road again, making very few stops (save the Kaikoura Winery, as we had to pick up another bottle of Kaikoura Crème – note: this is a had to situation, not a wanted to) and trotting up to the Picton ferry terminal nice and early. The ferry crossing was as uneventful as our drive; no waves, no seasickness, no puking Glen.

Speed Through Pt 4: Otira Valley killed my car!

Before we get to the Otira Valley part of this saga, let me fill you in on the rest of the West Coast:

-Greymouth: Adam was right. There is nothing there. It is an ugly blight on the landscape, although not quite as hideous as Bluff. Got savaged by sandflies.

-Hokitika: Cute little place. Good window shopping, although not a lot of it. There was an extremely odd sand sculpture festival going on and a few of the sculptures were quite hilarious. Got savaged by sandflies.

-Westport: Didn't leave much of an impression. We kept on driving north after Westport, just to see what was at the end of the highway, but there wasn't much. Nice drive, lots of pretty coastal scenery. Got savaged by sandflies.

-North of Westport back to Arthur's Pass: The west coast truly is a stunningly beautiful place, even if it's towns hold little interest. We enjoyed the drive. We really enjoyed being in the car and not getting savaged by sandflies.

And now we come to Otira Valley. This is the western portion of the Arthur's Pass highway route that provides the most direct connection between Christchurch and the west coast. It is a notoriously long and hilly stretch that travels through a mountainous land nearly desert-like in it's bleakness. As we were travelling up the Otira Valley portion, I saw many cars pulled over on the side of the road. Hm, I thought, not much here to take pictures of.

Then, towards the very top of the climb out of Otira Valley and right before the Arthur's Pass village site, Sparkleypoo registered her severe disapproval of the road. She started to steam and she started to slow (which is alarming when you can't really get much above 40 kph due to the grade anyway) and we pulled over to have a look. There was still water in the cooler tank, but we added more, crossed our fingers and hoped for the best. Then, right at the top of the very last hump that would take us to the downslope and Arthur's Pass, she bucked. Once, twice, thrice she bucked while I muttered "just a few more meters, just a few more meters...". We got over the hill and rolled into Aurthur's Pass, and figured that it would be wise to stop for a drink and to let the car cool down. It was a brutal climb out of that valley and a hot day to begin with. We would give the car a rest.

Sparkleypoo evidently wanted a little more than a rest. She wanted to die. And she made a valiant attempt at doing so. When we went to start her up again, there was nary a 'click' from the engine. The battery was working, but the engine wouldn't even try to turn over. A few other cars were also parked around us, with drivers staring forlornly at flat tires or vehicles that simply wouldn't start.

Arthur's Pass being in New Zealand and New Zealanders having strange ideas about matters of practicality and service, there was - of course - no service station in Arthur's Pass. There was one, and signs indicated the direction to said service station, but it had shut down a good five years ago. Funny, considering that Otira Valley apparently kills cars all the time for fun, that no one had bothered opening another one. We needed to get a tow truck to haul us in to the closest service station at a town called Springfield, a good 100 kms away.

Needless to say, the tow bill hurt. Actually, the tow bill hurt more than the replacement starter motor (which was fried, which was why the car wouldn't start) and the labour to install it. Placated by the sacrificial offering of a new starter, Sparkleypoo was willing to run perfectly once more.

We, on the other hand, were completely fed up and decided that upon our return to Christchurch we would attempt to sell her immediately. The starter motor incident meant that we had to spend one night at the hostel in Springfield while the car was attended to, and once we were up and running again we were all to happy to return to Christchurch and back to the hospitality of our Kiwi Sweetie, Cousin J.

Speed through pt. 3 - Dunedin to the West Coast

This part of the road trip proved to be a series of abbreviations and dissapointments. On our way out of Dunedin, heading for Oamaru, we sere going to make a detour to the Otago Peninsula, which was supposed to be very pretty and harbour a albatross and yellow-eyed penguin colony as well as the Larnach Castle.

We drove to the peninsula, making a mental note to gas up somewhere along the way. The drive was indeed very pretty, and our first stop was Larnach castle. We figured the entrance fee would be $10 to $15 each, and we were okay with that. We were not okay, however, with the $25 admission fee that we discovered upon arriving at the gate. I'm sure the castle is cool and interesting and all that, but it isn't worth a total of $50 for us to walk around it for an hour. Besides, I suspect that it is similar to Craigdarroch Castle in Victoria, BC, which Glen and I have visited before. Both castles were built around the same time by similarly melodramatic individuals. Sparkleypoo was hauled into a quick turn and we immediately left.

The drive towards the peak of the peninsula (where the bird are) carried on, but we started to get worried as the gas needle inched further and further down and there was no gas station in sight. When we finally did find a fuel stop in one of the little villages that dot the area, we still managed to come up dry. Quite literally. There was no gas at the gas station. We knew that we still had enough gas to get back to Dunedin, so we turned around and headed back to the city. It would have taken quite a bit more driving to get to the albatross colony; it was still late morning, and as the birds don't come in until the evening and we weren't really interested in them anyway, we decided that we didn't want to waste the gas doubling back and headed off immediately for Oamaru.

Other travellers and kiwis had told us that Oamaru was a sweet little town, and the presence of grand Victorian limestone architecture ensured our interst. We arrived slightly past four in the afternoon...

...and found a ghost town. Seriously, there was hardly anyone in the streets, and all the shops were closed. We walked around and saw their gorgeous white limestone buildings, but for some reason we were both rather dissapointed with the place. The Victorian architecture was pretty nifty, but the rest of the "Victoriana" tourist trappings that filled the place just seemed phony and overdone. We dawdled around a bit and then left. There was a very lovely beach that we passed on the way to town, and as we needed to go back down that road to get onto the highway that would take us to the West Coast, we decided to camp there for the evening. It was a gorgeous little location, and as an added bonus there was a fancy breed rooster wandering around the site, screaming at the top of its lungs and harassing the seaglls.

The drive back through central Otago was just as brown as the first time, but once we hit the mountains around Haast pass, things got gorgeous. It seemed somewhat pointless to stop for the night in Haast itself, so we kept driving north until we came to a nice place to sleep. Along with the clear view of the Tasman Sea (that particular lookout boasted nothing in the water between it and Antartica) came hordes and hordes of sandflies. It was a trend that would continue during the remainder of our time on the coast.

Next time: the rest of the West

Speed through Pt. 2 - Slope Point to Dunedin

(Again, none of the photos in here are mine, as I can't upload my photos at the moment. But we were at all locations pictured here, so it's still legit!)

After our nighttime drive through a rather uninteresting portion of the Southern Scenic highway, from Bluff to Slope Point, we slept at the dirt road carpark right by the Slope Point access area. Behold, the magnificent directional signage!



There is no road to the point, rather you need to walk across a sheep pasture - closed from September to November for lambing season - for about 15 minutes.



After the walk, in which it is a great deal of fun to yell at the sheep and dart towards them when they become too complacent, you arrive at this sign:



It was a nifty spot to visit and made for a good early-morning walk. The trees around this area are incredibly windswept and their branches all point in one direction. Due to the force of the wind, everything on an exposed side of the tree clusters is blasted and dead, with all the leaves being on the sheltered side. I've no idea how they survive the wind, it's brutal.

We carried on with our drive along the Catlins Coast, driving a combination of the Southern Scenic highway and the Catlins Coastal Heritage Trail. We made stops at a few points of interest, such as the Curio Bay petrified forest, Nugget Point (we didn't see any penguins, but it was the wrong time of day to be looking for them) and various little rainforest walks.

The we finished at Dunedin, where we planned on staying for three evenings. Thanks to the traveller's networking service CouchSurfing, we had made arrangements to stay with a lady who had an available guest room. We got along splendidly with her and her son, and spent a very nice three days investigating the city, focussing, as usual, around the downtown area. We took the Speight's Brewery tour, which was great fun and ended with a rather lengthy beer tastig session. Incidentally, we also tried their specialty malt ice cream, which is surprisingly tasty with a caramelly like flavour.

Next up: Omaru to the West Coast!

Speed through pt. 1

Due to internet limitations, the slowness of dial-up, and the incompatability of a dial-up modem with our laptop Stowaway's modem, this shall be a personal-photo-free post. Any pictures here have been shamelessly filtched from other websites. But at least you will know what we have been up to since leaving Queensland.

Our activities have been primarily focussed around driving, stopping for a walkabout, driving some more, finding somewhere to park the car for the night, and dodging sandflies.

First major stop after Queenstown was Milford Sound. We strung out the drive from Queenstown to Milford to an overnight affair, and slept at the foot of the Kepler track. This wouldn't be a particularly noteworthy event, except that it was here where Glen caught a glimpse of a kiwi foraging in the little tree-sheltered dirt parking lot.


The following night we stayed at a campsite in the Fiordland (yep, that's how they spell it) national park. The evening was quite enjoyable, we built a fire and made bannock, and accidentally left one of the lights in the car on all night. The end result was that Glen had to find a German - they're everywhere here - to hitch a ride back to Te Anau so that we could get a service man to boost our very, very dead battery. None of the campers in the site had jumper cables, so we were left with little option other than footing the bill for having a serviceman come all the way out to our campsite to give us some power. And thanks to the time all this took, we had to cancel our day cruise through the Milford fjords and re-book for the next day.

Spending an extra day in Milford wasn't exactly a hardship. The place is staggeringly beautiful, and due to the rain that we got during our visit there were hundreds of waterfalls pouring down the mountains. The drive through the Homer Tunnel was very, very cool. There's nothing else like it - you drive right through the base of a mountain via a tunnel that's about 1.2 kilometers long. Once you get to the Milford side of the tunnel and look back, all that can be seen is a huge, impassable, horse-shoe shaped wall of mountain. Driving through the tunel is creepy and surreal and very fun!

There is virtually nowhere to stay in Milford and no food stores, but we did come across a hostel where we could park and sleep in the car for a small fee while getting access to their showers and kitchens. The hostel also boasts that they are "the only store in Milford Sound", which is quite true. They have a small stock of canned food, just-add-water meals, basic cooking supplies, and snacks. The prices were outrageous, of course, but as our supper supplies were basically limited to peanut butter and jam sandwiches with apples for dessert, we decided to buy some soup anyway. We were dying for a hot meal and this point. I definitely think that the hostel's price for using a parking space is ludicrous ($15 per person), but the hostel itself was very nice, and it was great being able to have a hot shower, a hot meal, and hang out in the very comfy lounge while the sandflies hurled themselves at the exterior windows. Plus, we got to see our first kea - they're the world's only alpine parrot. They are a very intelligent and have a fondness for stealing food and ripping rubber window linings and windshield wipers off cars.



Our cruise through the Milford fjords was magnificent. We took the Milford Sound Red Boat Cruises "Discover More" cruise, which lasted three hours and included lunch and a visit to the very, very cool underwater coral reef observatory located in the fjord itself. The trip was fantastic, we got completely soaked by waterfalls, and watched huge bottlenose dolphins jumping and coursing alongside our boat. The Milford bottlenose dolphins are known for being particularly large because of their sheltered environment, and they were smack alongside the boat, probably about 10 feet down from where we were leaning over to gawk at them. Happily there were no sandflies out on the water.

We headed back towards Te Anau after our Cruise, and drove along the Southern Scenic highway coastal route from Te Anau to Invercargill. We didn't see anything in Invercargill that made us want to stay overnight, but we did stop for dinner. Afterwards we went south from Invercargill to Bluff, which has been called the arsehole of the universe, and for good reason. That was, without a doubt, the most butt-ugly place I've ever seen. The drive in was depressing, and there was little else to look at other than dilapidated houses along the roadside and huge industrial plants and sulphur piles in the harbour. Once we got into the town itself, we turned right around and left immediately.

The remainder of that evening passed uneventfully. We drove in the dark for some time, unable to find a suitable rest stop to park the car for the night. Eventually we made our way to the very, very isolated Slope Point, which is the southernmost point on the south island of New Zealand. It was pitch black at this time, so no walking to the actual point itself. We were far too tired to do any walking anyway, so we bedded down for the night and went straight to sleep.